


Denial

by ObscureSubmarine



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood, But after the apocalypse, Hansen Family Feels, Lone Survivor Chuck Hansen, Set 3 years into the future, Zombie AU, slight body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureSubmarine/pseuds/ObscureSubmarine
Summary: WARNING: This fic contains pretty graphic descriptions of zombies, so blood and gore. If you have a weak stomach, I suggest you look away!Chuck is the last surviving member of the PPDC still in Hong Kong. The rest are either....sick or gone. The only thing left to do is to help his dad get better, because he will.





	Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! I know it's a bit early, but still. Now for some world building that doesn't do a lot for the story but is still important to me:  
> Kaiju Blue not only kills people, but it brings them back to life as hideous zombies  
> Everyone initially survived, but then turned into zombies  
> Chuck has slowly gone insane  
> The zombie infection spread rapidly and now the whole world is affected  
> This has been happening for three years  
> Enjoy!

Denial

The whistling of wind wove its way through the dilapidated Shatterdome, its careful touch caressing the rotting metal stored within the building. Shadows flickered and danced on the rust-covered walls, moving in tandem with the shattered lights high above. Faded blueprints and other assorted papers rode the wind like a bucking bronco, bringing a small bit of life to the otherwise dead building.

Sunlight petered in through the many holes clawed into the Shatterdome walls, the last sign of life from the sun’s weak rays illuminating a figure carefully stepping through the abandoned machines and moss-covered metal. The sun gave its final breath, and disappeared beyond the horizon. Not that Chuck needed it. He knew the Shatterdome like the back of his hand.

He darted through the small lights filtering from the man-made lights that still worked, eyes tracking every shadow that dared to show its ugly face. He pulled his beloved bomber jacket closer to him as his mind gave the shadows eyes and rotten teeth. He shook the thoughts away. He had survived for long enough against the sickness, he had no need to fear them anymore. Anyway, he had a mission.

Chuck pulled his pack tight to his back as he vaulted over a piece of Jaeger foot, the silvery metal dim and dirty, no longer grand like it once was. His boots made a clanking noise as the buckles bumped against his chins, causing Chuck to wince. An explosive noise made his head swivel to face it, but he let out a sigh of relief as a faraway light in the ghostly shell of Hong Kong sparked and shuddered as the night engulfed it in its cold embrace.

Chuck turned back to his path, laying his eyes on his destination, a manic grin overtaking his scarred face. If you hadn’t noticed Chuck’s Striker Eureka jacket, you wouldn’t have even recognized the young man. His strawberry blonde hair was caked in dirt, turning it an unsavoury sewer brown. Bruises and scars covered his face, proudly announcing that Chuck was a survivor of many falls and battles. His clothes were tattered and torn, sewn together too many times to count. Though he was still muscular, he was as pale as a newfallen bank of snow, painting a picture of how little food he had. Most of the food that Chuck found went to his dad.

Chuck smiled at the thought of his dad. Sure, he and his old man didn’t have the greatest relationship, but they were mending it wonderfully. He really felt that he understood his dad now, and the two would be able to work together like a well oiled Jaeger. Anyway, in a world as messed up as the one they lived in, you needed to have good relationships to survive.

Chuck finally reached his destination, the large metal doors leading to LOCCENT. Dents and scratches littered its once proud surface, rust creeping into every nook and cranny in its scarred face. A warm feeling wormed its way into Chuck’s heart, heating up his chilled bones. He leaned against the door, feeling the rust fall off in flakes and stain his jacket. Almost the whole right sleeve was a mixed mess of the bomber’s true black-green colour and the worn red of rust.

The door was a stubborn thing, ever since the pass locks had been broken. The door had no more locks, but the jagged edges of the bolts still scraped against the sides of the doorframe, snagging on the old metal. Nevertheless, Chuck always managed to get the stubborn hunk of metal open.

As the door let out an earsplitting screech as it dragged across the doorframe, the smell of death and decay spilled out of the room like an avalanche of stench. Chuck never flinched at the sickly smell anymore, having grown used to it. It was almost….comforting. The air seemed to weigh down on any that walked into its embrace, but Chuck wasn’t bothered as he sucked a long, weary breath in. The air seemed to slither down Chuck’s throat, poisoning him with its vile stench, but the young man still stood unfazed. The only thing that kept him frozen in place within the doorframe was the darkness that swallowed the corners of the LOCCENT.

The lights that were still operational within the hangar that once held dragonslayers cast their timid, flickering gazes into the foggy windows of LOCCENT, trying to peer into its murky depths. Silence fell over Chuck like a blanket, enveloping him in its cruel touch. He steadied himself, letting his happy memories wash over him, pushing the silence away. He felt along the wall for the light switch, a small shock coursing through his fingers when he finally found it. He flipped it up, watching in relief as the few lights that still worked woke up, chasing away some of the darkness. But not all of it.

One corner still sat in shadows, sucking in all of the darkness in the room. It was the whole reason Chuck kept going in this decaying world, his whole purpose. Chuck smiled as he looked at the corner, but tried to keep as silent as he possibly could to keep his surprise under wraps. Too late. Chuck had woken him.

He never truly slept, never needing it, but he still entered some sort of resting state. The clinking of moving chains made Chuck’s head turn to the corner engulfed in darkness, causing Chuck’s smile to fall. A wet, sickly growl echoed out from the shadows. Chuck rolled his eyes. “Dad! Why are you so good at spotting me? I was TRYING to surprise you!” he protested. All he got in response was a stronger snarl and an awful, squelching sound as Chuck’s father stumbled to the edge of the shadows, now illuminated by a few candles Chuck had lit when he entered LOCCENT.

The squelch was made by the mass of muscles and nerves at the end of Herc’s right leg, rotten, maroon liquid leaking from the stump that once connected to a foot. Bone peeked out of the mass, shining pale white against the blackish-red of Herc’s decaying muscles. His pant leg hung loosely against the right leg of the man, stained with blood and torn to shreds.

His other leg was no better. It was gnawed down to the bone in some places, sinew and muscle hanging loose from the holes. Blisters and bruises littered whatever skin was left on the leg, leaking pus and congealed blood. The only thing intact on this leg was his foot, still encased in a boot very similar to Chuck’s.

His abdomen had been torn open, intestines lolling out of the blood-crusted hole. Small bits of spine could be seen in the midst of the rotting mass of organs, almost hidden by the heaps of boils and scabs etched into Herc’s intestines. Bits of rib poked out from his chest, which was still covered by the Australian’s signature Henley. It was barely recognizable, what with being stained by blood and torn apart in some places by scrabbling nails, but it was still there. His other signature article of clothing, Herc’s Lucky Seven vest, was fine, except for a large stain on the left shoulder and pectoral.

Herc’s left arm was in shambles, and he had no right arm at all. The right arm ended at his shoulder, shattered bone and rotten muscle all that was left of the arm. The left arm went all the way down, ending in a hand that was missing two fingers and had half of a pinkie. The other fingers that were left, the index finger and thumb, were coated in blood and scabs. Muscles pulled taunt over Herc’s exposed elbow as the other holes in Herc’s forearm leaked mahogany blood. A massive gash decorated the upper portion of the Aussie’s arm, crusted over and rotting from the inside.

Chuck ignored all of this, only focusing on his father’s head, staring into the one milky eye that was left. All that remained of Herc’s right eye was a gaping hole with tiny red nerves falling out of the bottom of the pit. Bits of shattered skull shone like strange diamonds within a cave of decaying flesh and muscle, finally exposed to the world. The man’s burning red hair had been reduced to a stringy mess, caked in dirt and grime. Herc’s jaw hung loose, jawbone shattered on the right side, making it dangle precariously from Herc’s rotting skull. A tongue lolled out of this jaw, dripping saliva. A gurgling groan clawed its way out of Herc’s ruined throat.

“Dad!” Chuck squealed in delight. “You’re looking so good! And you’re responsive today! That just makes my little surprise even better!” He set down his backpack, flipping it open and reaching a hand deep within the military grade bag. He pulled his prize out, waving it triumphantly in the air. Chuck smiled at his father.

He wandered over to the makeshift cage made of old metal found within the Shatterdome, a smile gracing his face. “Look what I gotcha, Dad! It’s your favourite!” Chuck felt so happy and warm as his father dragged his footless leg across the metal floor of LOCCENT, moaning at the sight of his son with hunger flickering through his dead eye. It was the only emotion Herc ever showed other than animalistic anger.

Chuck tossed the plastic bowl he held through the bars of the cage as Herc snarled and lunged at him, straining against the iron manacle clamped firmly around his neck. The manacle was put there for two reasons. It was there to keep Herc tethered to the LOCCENT floor, and to keep his head on. His neck had rotted through in places, making his head hang precariously without the manacle on.

A low groan gurgled out of his throat as Chuck scooted back to his bag. “Daaad, c’mon! It’s mashed potatoes! Your favourite! It won’t even hurt your teeth!” Chuck reached into his bag again, pulling out a bruised apple as Herc just hissed at him, reddish foam leaking out of the side of the decaying man’s jaw. Chuck chomped down on the apple, rolling his eyes again at his dad. “You have to eat! How are you ever going to get better if you don’t eat?” Herc snapped and hissed in reply.

Chuck snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up. “I know somethin’ that’ll cheer you up, old man!” Herc growled and foamed, pulling on his chains and feebly reaching out towards Chuck with his ruined hand. Chuck put his hands up in reply, chuckling. “I know, I know. You don’t like being called an old man, but it’s true! Anyway, you’ll never guess who I met today!” Chuck turned to his father, watching the saliva fall from his father’s ruined jaw, dripping on the floor. “I saw Pentecost today!”

Herc groaned, almost seeming to recognize the name, but no recognition lit up Herc’s milky left eye. He wheezed a liquidy breath, bubbling and frothing as Chuck rose to his feet. “I know! Crazy, roight?” Chuck giggled. He knew how much his dad had hated people making fun of their accents, so Chuck liked to play with his old man by pronouncing his accent even more. All he got in response was a fierce snap from Herc.

Chuck wandered over to the cloudy LOCCENT windows, peering out into the gaping hangar and through a hole in the Shatterdome wall to Hong Kong, illuminated by the moon’s feeble light. He sighed. “You probably want to go see him” Chuck said, looking back at his dad, who was chomping on his chains, leaving rotting teeth stuck within the loops of the metal. “Dad! Those chains are only there until you get better, okay? You’re gonna get better!”

Chuck scrubbed his face with his hands, dragging his nails along his bruised skin. His dad just wouldn’t listen. Chuck smiled. Typical Hansen. He slid down the wall, coming to a rest below the windowsill. His head lolled to the side, staring at his father who was staring right back with his dead stare. He hadn’t even touched the bowl of mashed potatoes, only leaking viscous fluid on the food.

Chuck turned away, disgusted. He wasn’t repulsed by his dad’s appearance (he was going to get better!), but it was just such a waste of food. It took him a long time to find that bowl of potatoes, still sitting inside someone’s microwave, just waiting to be eaten. “Don’t waste the food, dad!” Chuck exclaimed, frustration leaking into his voice “You have to eat! You have to eat if you want to get better!” A low, almost apologetic moan was his answer.

Chuck’s face, hardened in frustration, softened. “Aww, I’m sorry, old man. I just want you to get better! Then everything can go back to normal, like it was before the Kaiju, before the sickness….I can even find Pentecost, and Mako, and Raleigh, too! Well, maybe not him, but you get my point!” He looked at the cobweb covered desks of LOCCENT, memories flooding back to him, memories of standing at those very desks and watching movies with Tendo on the holoscreen when he was young.

Chuck leapt to his feet, happiness flooding through him. “Hey dad! Let’s see if I can get these old holoscreens to work. Maybe we can watch a movie! Listen to some music! Wouldn’t that be fun?” Herc hissed, gnawing on black gums as he snapped at Chuck. “You don’t have to dance or sing, dad. You can just listen.” That seemed to satiate the man, calming his hissing. “Good job! Maybe you’re getting better!” Chuck exclaimed as he pulled at old wires and flicked switches that hadn’t been used in years.

After an hour of poking and prodding at the old machines, Chuck gave up, sitting back on his haunches. He wiped his brow, clearing away some of the many layers of sweat and grime that had accumulated on his face. “Sorry dad” he said apologetically. “Couldn’t fix it. Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow.” Herc moaned, a low, quiet thing. Chuck nodded. “You’re right. I should get some sleep. I’ve got another busy day ahead of me! Maybe I’ll try and get Pentecost to come back to the ‘Dome with me. You could have some company for when I’m gone!”

Chuck unfolded his sleeping bag, a threadbare thing that had seen better, brighter days. He slithered into the bag, tired eyes staring at his father for one last time before sleep overtook him. Herc had slowly crept back into the shadows, leaving only his face illuminated in the dying candlelight. Chuck smiled a sleepy smile. “G’night, dad. Tomorrow’s another day.”


End file.
